


Companionship

by occasional_boy_reporter



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, in between cannon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasional_boy_reporter/pseuds/occasional_boy_reporter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>    Taking place between various volumes of the Tintin comics, this story follows the hypothetical relationship of Tintin and Captain Haddock from strange friendship to something much deeper. And it's all thanks to Tintin's nosy landlady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   “It must have happened the last time you visited me.” Tintin withdrew his key from the lock and ushered his guest into the uppermost apartment at 26 Labrador Road.

   “There was a ruddy whole in my pocket,” Captain Haddock grumbled as he slipped past.  “Stitched up now, but not before I lost my wallet and my favorite pipe.”

   Tintin made a few appropriately sympathetic noises while rummaging through a nearby sideboard. “Snowy found your pipe. I had quite a time convincing him to give it up.”

   Haddock waited awkwardly just inside the doorway. It was funny the way you could trek all over a Moroccan desert with a fellow and feel perfectly at ease but then feel like an intruder in the doorway of the same fellow’s flat. Since their return to Europe, the Captain and reporter had spent a considerable bit of time together. Evening walks and long searches for the Captain’s new apartment had cemented the friendship that was forged abroad under dangerous circumstances.  And now that they’d cleared up the whole mess with the three parchments and the Bird brothers, Tintin and Haddock were deep in the planning stages of a treasure hunt. Yet this was only the third or fourth time Haddock had ever been inside the lad’s apartment. The place was tidy and proper, much like its owner, though there seemed to be an inordinate amount of papers and books staged in neat piles around the room.

   “Well, here’s the pipe at least.” Tintin produced the item and triumphantly offered it to the Captain. “That was all I found. We could call the detectives and ask them to keep an eye out for your wallet, if you’d like.”

   “There’s a good idea.” Haddock inspected his pipe. It was old but his most cherished treasure, well, unless this whole _Unicorn_ business produced some _real_ treasure. There might have been a small tooth mark or two but at least it hadn’t been lost on the street. Tintin had even cleaned it of the old tobacco. Haddock was impressed. “Thank you, lad. Do you mind if I…”

   “Be my guest.”

   Tintin avidly followed Haddock’s fingers as the older man stuffed and lit the pipe. Haddock would have felt self-conscious for such attention but he’d already learned the boy studied most everything with enthusiasm. When the pipe was heated to his satisfaction, the Captain fixed Tintin with a grateful grin. Just to show off, Haddock blew a puff of smoke out in a series of little rings.

   The young reporter’s eyes flickered and the corner of his mouth rose in the briefest quirk of a smile. Haddock expected this. Tintin was easily interested, even if he didn’t let on in grand fashion. Haddock extended the pipe to Tintin. “Care to try.”

   This time the glow of Tintin’s smile was dimmed by the righteousness in his voice. “I wouldn’t like to get in the habit of smoking, Captain.”

   Haddock grunted just slightly. Of course the boy didn’t smoke. Though Tintin tolerated the Captain’s smoking with much more grace than his drinking, Haddock expected Tintin to refuse participation in any vice. The last few months had taught Haddock that Tintin’s moral code was firmly locked somewhere between Boy Scout and saint. This was certainly admirable, if you were into that kind of lifestyle. Haddock sometimes wondered if he ought not bring his (still occasionally drunken) influence around such a young innocent.

   Tintin settled his hands into the front pockets of his plus fours and smiled in a way that might have disarmed a gunman. “Captain, how would you like to see a picture tonight?”

   “At the cinema?” Haddock was busy counting his remaining matches.  “Afraid I’m a little cash bare at the moment. Er, missing wallet and whatnot.”

    “That’s alright,” Tintin shrugged lightly. “It will be my treat.”

   “That’s very good of you but-”

   “You can owe me if you insist.”

   The Captain’s brow quirked. The kid could be pushy when it came to their time together. If Tintin wanted to treat Haddock to a movie or take him to a particular restaurant, you could bet your life that Tintin’s itinerary prevailed. Haddock supposed the kid was just strong–willed and a bit too philanthropic.  It was true that most of Haddock’s earning were already earmarked to pay off drinking-related debts, but he wasn’t so poor he couldn’t feed or occasionally entertain himself. Well, he could pay for himself if he hadn’t lost his wallet.

   “Why don’t we try staying in for a change? I know you haven’t heard all my sailing stories yet.”

   “Alright then.” Tintin seemed delighted enough. “Have a seat?”

   “Don’t mind if I do.”

   Tintin gestured to one of the two chairs in front of the modest fireplace.  For the first time, Haddock noticed one of the chairs was a bit more worn than the other. Did that mean Tintin didn’t have many visitors to occupy the second chair or just that Tintin preferred the chair closest to the bookcase? Haddock made sure to settle deeply in the guest seat.

   Someone knocked at the door just as Tintin was about to be seated. Tintin’s hands tensed on the armrests which caused Haddock to frown in turn. Being packed into a crate and kidnapped from your own doorway could make the sturdiest of men jumpy. The boy acted as if he hadn’t just gripped a chair for dear life and excused himself to answer the door.

   When Tintin opened it, he was face-to-face with a slim, older woman. She blinked behind round glasses and lowered the small fist obviously in the middle of another knock.

   “Yes, Mrs. Finch?” Tintin inquired with no hint of relief.

   “You know, I thought I’d heard you come in Mr. Tintin. Oh, and it’s Captain Haddock!” Mrs. Finch beamed like she’d just met one of her favorite celebrities.

   Haddock rose and joined Tintin and Mrs. Finch out of courtesy.

  “Uh, have we met?” Haddock was forced to ask after a moment of awkward smiling.

   “Oh, heavens no! But you can only be Captain Haddock. Mr. Tintin said you were a big man.”

   “I’m sorry.” Tintin’s voice was tight and the door seemed to lurch in his hand as if he’d barely kept himself from closing it. “Did you need something Mrs. Finch?”

   “There’s a message for you, Mr. Tintin. It’s from those two peculiar gentlemen.”

   “The Thom(p)sons? What did they say?”

   “Well, I’m sure I don’t know.” Mrs. Finch frowned as if horribly insulted. “They wrote it down.”

   She produced a folded slip of paper from an apron pocket and handed it over to Tintin. “I’m not in the habit of reading other people’s messages.” Mrs. Finch confided in Haddock.

   “Of course not. Very proper of you,” Haddock nodded.

   “Though I imagine it’s in regards to some sort of _case_.” She whispered the word case like it was some kind of scandalous secret. “Mr. Tintin’s always running off for some reason or another. But I suppose that’s the way young men are. My husband was the same way.”

   “You don’t say,” Haddock muttered politely as he watched Tintin scan the detectives’ message.

   “Didn’t know how to be still, my Harold.”

   Haddock took a couple puffs from his pipe and glanced sidelong at Tintin as Mrs. Finch began a long list of her former husband’s exploits. The reporter watched with a hint of amusement before using the note to gesture toward the nearby phone. Tintin stealthily retreated to a closed door, and grabbed the telephone on his way.

   The Captain’s eyes widened in alarm. Surely he wouldn’t! Tintin’s grin was downright sly as he slipped through the door and closed it behind him with perfect silence. Tintin had straight up abandoned Haddock!

   “Of course, that was all before the accident.”

   Haddock snapped back to the conversation. Here he was groaning about being left with some strange female and the poor woman was sharing the death of her husband! Mrs. Finch was probably just some lonely, old soul looking for a little kindness.

   “I’m so sorry.” Captain Haddock took Mrs. Finch’s hand and patted it sympathetically.

   “Oh, thank you, Captain. I certainly didn’t mean to cut off Harold’s finger. It’s just one of those funny things that happen.”

   Haddock withdrew his comforting hands.

   “But, dear! You’ve let me talk only about myself. Tell me all about you.” Mrs. Finch’s eyes flashed brightly behind her comically large glasses.  “It’s nice to see Mr. Tintin find some kind of companionship. I tried to set him up with all the younger women I know. He just wasn’t interested! I said to myself, ‘Merel-’ That’s my first name. I hope I’m not too familiar in letting you know. I said ‘Merel, maybe Mr. Tintin isn’t interested in young ladies.’ At first, it seemed absurd. But then I remembered a boy I went with in school once. He was very well brought up. Beautiful teeth. He was supposed to take me to the spring fair.”

   Haddock realized he’d sucked too strongly on his pipe and burnt the tobacco to ash. It left a taste as unsettling as Mrs. Finch’s ramblings. The Captain glanced about for possible excuses to leave the conversation.

   “He left me early in the evening, but I managed to find him later on. He and another boy were hidden behind some trees, _touching_ each other.”

   Haddock practically spat his pipe across the room.

   “It was all quite shocking to me too. They were writhing against each other, kissing and grabbing!” Mrs. Finch illustrated against an invisible partner and Haddock thought he might jump out a window just to escape.

   “The experience left quite an impression on me. I think about it very often.” Mrs. Finch stared off into space and Haddock felt impossibly more uncomfortable. “So when Mr. Tintin first told me about you, I was terribly excited for him. I’m so glad we had the chance to meet. Ah, but I’m afraid I’ve left a pot on the stove and can’t leave it for long. Say ‘hello’ the next time you visit. I hope you two have a lovely evening.”

   “Have a good evening,” Haddock mumbled a little shell-shocked. Even after the door had closed, Haddock stared at the space that had been occupied by Mrs. Finch’s owlish face. He couldn’t believe Mrs. Finch had come to such a conclusion regarding Tintin. The thought that Tintin might be one of those men who liked men! It didn’t occur to Haddock that Mrs. Finch had also drawn the same conclusion about him.

   The soft click of a doorknob drew Haddock’s attention to the room where Tintin had slipped away earlier. The boy entered with a caution that Haddock now felt was well-warranted. After confirming Mrs. Finch was no longer hovering in the door, Tintin rested the phone back on its appointed table.

   “I spoke with the detectives. They wanted to know if we needed security for our voyage. I said we’d consider it. They promised to keep an eye out for your wallet as well.”

   “Thank you.” Haddock scratched at his beard. “Tintin, that Mrs. Finch…”

   “Ah!” Tintin’s face was only slightly apologetic. “She’s a very good landlady but I think she’s wary of my lifestyle.”

   Immediately came the thought of Mrs. Finch’s old beau writhing against another man.  Haddock felt like he’d been slapped. “Lifestyle?”

   “Oh, you know,” Tintin grinned sheepishly. “ Shootings on the front stoop, kidnappings, my gallivanting to foreign countries for long periods of time; I don’t think the average tenants bring such excitement.”

   Haddock grunted his agreement. Tintin’s adventuring could certainly be considered a lifestyle. And if Tintin made other specific lifestyle choices, well, that wasn’t any of Haddock’s business. After all, Tintin was just a boy. And yet, Haddock felt more ill at ease in Tintin’s flat. “What do you say we go for a walk?”

   “Oh?” Tintin seemed surprised by the sudden suggestion. After a fleeting glance at the two chairs and the fireplace, Tintin smiled anyway. “If you’d like, Captain. But I still want to hear all your stories.”

   “Of course!” Haddock was almost relieved as he led the way to the door. “Did I tell you that my old buddy Chester has a wooden toe?”

   “A wooden toe?”

   Haddock grinned as he closed the door behind them. “We were just coming out of port in Africa…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 
>        This piece is partially inspired by doubledeck's hilarious summary of the Tintin Jr. novelization (found on Tintin kink meme) and the questions I have about the sparse female characters in the Tintin universe.  
>     > 
>     
>     
>       This is one of those self-prompts that ran a little wild. I originally intended for it to be porn centering around the fact that Tintin has a nosy landlady and a dirty secret stashed on his bookshelf. I still intend to write that pwp, but this multi-parter wrote itself first.  
>     > 


	2. Chapter 2

   “Would you prefer coffee or tea, Captain?”  

   Haddock gave such a start that his monocle popped right off his face. Tintin caught the glass disk before it could shatter against the wooden floor of his apartment.

   “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Maybe you should wear it on a chain.” Tintin’s smile was verging on sardonic as he turned the monocle over in his hand.

   “I’m told that’s not in style anymore.” The shopkeeper had been most adamant about that when Haddock purchased his first piece.

   “It seems you’d go through fewer of them if they were somehow attached to your person.”

   Haddock accepted the monocle from Tintin and began the tricky process of wedging it between cheek and brow bones. The treasure they’d found at Marlinspike had left the Captain quite wealthy. He could afford a new monocle every now and then. They were certainly a nuisance to wear though. Haddock supposed that was ‘the price of being well-to-do’ as the monocle salesman had put it. But in Tintin’s apartment, it felt ridiculous. Haddock slipped the disk into his breast pocket.

   “Some hot coffee would be welcome,” Haddock suggested to draw Tintin’s attention away from the silly monocle. Tintin smiled with raised brows sensing the Captain’s attempt at deflection. Couldn’t slip anything past the reporter. Still, Tintin graciously retreated to putter about the tiny kitchen.

   Rain beat with an audible tapping against the window. The skies had opened up as Haddock and Tintin left the Hippodrome and turned into a real monsoon as the Captain’s car turned onto Labrador road. With visibility near zero, Tintin had invited the Captain to wait it out in the journalist’s apartment. Haddock still felt a bit damp around the collar of his best suit.

   Haddock sighed and abandoned his post at the window. “Need any help, lad?”

   “I can manage,” Tintin called over the sound of clinking mugs, one of which had been purchased specifically for Haddock’s visits. “Why don’t you have a seat in front of the fire?”

   The Captain shrugged and undid his bow tie. It seemed people were always doing things for him since he’d come into money. Sometimes it was amazing (Nestor made a wonderful breakfast) and sometimes it was downright annoying (Haddock barely even chose his own tobacco anymore.) In some ways, being rich made the Captain feel as useless as the poorer, drunken version of himself. Of course, Tintin would have insisted on making their coffee back when Haddock was in borderline financial ruin. Aside from letting the Captain pay every now and then, like the show they’d just taken part of in the music-hall, the Captain’s sudden wealth hadn’t changed Tintin one bit. It was part of Tintin’s charm that he never seemed to change.

   Haddock had had enough sitting for one evening and decided to peruse Tintin’s well-stocked bookcase instead. The shelves were filled with Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Agatha Christie, not to mention the dozens of very technical looking manuals. A guide to Morse code was nestled between a pamphlet on Indian customs and a line of American Westerns.

   The phone rang and drew Haddocks’ attention away from a battered copy of _Treasure Island_. The Captain made a move to answer it, but Tintin rushed past with a halting hand on Haddock’s forearm.

   “I’ve  got it, Captain.”

   Haddock pursed his lips. Apparently he couldn’t answer a phone anymore either. Haddock flipped _Treasure Island_ over in his hands. Maybe Tintin would accept a new copy as a gift.

   Tintin made some apologetic mutterings in the background.

   Yes, a fresh copy of _Treasure Island_ would make a very appropriate thank you gift to the intrepid boy who’d helped him discover a family fortune. It was decided.

   Haddock returned the book to its spot but was surprised to find it wouldn’t slide all the way back in. Haddock wiggled the book and pushed again. Still blocked. Haddock stood on his tiptoes to peer into the space above his normal line of sight. It seemed a few books had slid when he’d pulled out _Treasure Island_ and were now cluttering the back of the shelf.

   Haddock grinned to himself. He’d noticed several spots on the bookcase where volumes were doubled up, one behind another. Tintin didn’t have enough shelves for his book collection! Maybe Haddock could gift Tintin with a larger bookcase as well.

   With a little stretching, Haddock managed to fish out the errant books and slip _Treasure Island_ back into place. Now what to do with the two rescued books? There wasn’t any sort of organizational system as far as the Captain could see so he simply decided to tuck them in wherever.

   _The Worst Journey in the World_ peaked the Captain’s interest. He might ask to borrow it later but for now Haddock wedged it between a book about grammar and something to do with African wildlife. The next book was unmarked on the spine and cover, just a worn blue book.

   Tintin was still talking rather animatedly into the phone so Haddock decided to play a game with himself.

   “Let’s see if I can guess,” Haddock whispered to the unmarked book. The Captain looked to Tintin himself for inspiration.

    A golfer’s biography, perhaps?

   No. Too droll.

   Another manual maybe?

   Tintin’s drapes seemed new. A book on interior design?

   On the bookshelf of a teenage boy?

   Not likely.

   Haddock turned the book over carefully. The corners where almost white with wear. It might be any second-hand book or maybe it was something Tintin read often.

   Could it be…it was almost too ironic to think about. Haddock made his guess.

   “Show me _Sherlock Holmes_ ,” Haddock chuckled as he opened to the title page.

      _Teleny_

   “That was the stage manager at the Hippodrome. He says they won’t press charges as long as we pay for the damages.”

   Haddock barely heard as he was too busy rereading the same passage over and over.

   _‘Then he reached the two fleshy lobes which he pressed open with his hands, and darted his tongue in that hole where a little while before he had thrust his finger. This likewise was for me a new and thrilling sensation.’_

The book disappeared from Haddock’s hands so quickly, he felt the friction burn in his palms.

   _Teleny_ hovered in front of Tintin’s chest clenched between two pale-knuckled hands. Every drop of color had drained from Tintin's cheeks.

   Haddock and Tintin were both at a loss for words.

   “It was a gift from Mrs. Finch,” Tintin finally told the floor. The color had returned to Tintin’s face with a vengeance leaving him a shade of red that left his hair pale by comparison.

   “Oh,” Haddock muttered with a slightly better understanding. “That was thoughtful, nice of her to…”

   Haddock wasn’t sure what he meant to say so he just stopped speaking. Should he tell Tintin he’d managed to read a little of it? Should he apologize? Should he ask if it meant what Haddock though it meant?

   “The rain has let up if you’d like to leave.” Tintin slipped the book behind several others with a very tense movement.

   The boy stared at the book’s hiding place as if trying to set it aflame by the power of will. Haddock remembered he’d complimented Tintin’s suit as they were leaving for the show earlier. ‘Very handsome.’ His exact words.

   “Tintin...”

   “Please!”

   It might as well have been a curse. When Tintin refused to look at him, Haddock collected his coat and let himself out. He practically stomped down the stairs and wasn’t at all surprised that the racket caused Mrs. Finch to poke her head into the hall.

   “Captain Haddock! My, you look dashing tonight. Are you leaving? You just came in.”

   “Mind your own business!” Haddock roared as he slammed the front door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

   Miserable place, Peru. As far as Haddock was concerned, the country was full of pet-snatching condors, sacrifice-happy Incas, and the most dreadfully rude llamas. The last few weeks back at Marlinspike had been heavenly. But in those few weeks, Haddock still had not cleared the air with Tintin.

   The last time Haddock left Tintin’s apartment before the whole crystal ball business, he’d felt a mess-though still impeccably dressed. The following day, Haddock had ventured into three different bookstores before acquiring a copy of _Teleny_. He read it in a single sitting after lunch and spent the rest of the day worrying himself ragged. No wonder Tintin had been so embarrassed, that book was a veritable treasure trove of smut. Mostly homosexual smut.

   The mystery was whether the book was a second-hand copy picked up by a misguided landlady and kept out of politeness…

   …or…

   …if Tintin’s own hands had worn the cover with repeated readings.

   Haddock tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter one way or the other. It was Tintin’s life! And if Tintin happened to visit places that allowed meetings between men with such preferences…the boy was certainly smart enough to take care of himself…would know how to avoid the men who were as dangerous as any mobster...not allow himself to be caught in any compromising situations. And if Tintin _did_ visit such places and _did_ engage in such pastimes, that was none of Haddock’s business either!

   Still, the question (inappropriate gift or secret favorite?) nagged at Haddock for the two days after Tintin had essentially kicked him out of the apartment.

   On the morning of the third day, Tintin appeared at the door of Marlinspike Hall looking his usual self. Even as Haddock professed ‘…how very nice’ it was to see the boy, the Captain still felt guilty for his unintended breach of privacy. Tintin never removed his coat, a sure sign he hadn’t planned to stay long. But then there were professors and ball lightning and mummies and shootouts and a stint in Peru and Haddock never did address that awkward night.

  Of course, their adventure in Peru had been forcefully slowed once the Incas sentenced them to death. Haddock forgot all about the dirty book in Tintin’s apartment until the end of the first week. By then, he was convinced they would be dead soon. Why bother to bring it up at all?

   But now, back in the supposed safety of Marlinspike, the newspaper headlines were becoming more ominous. Vehicles were blowing up everywhere. Sabotage was suspected. No one stepped forward to make demands or accept responsibility. The Captain could recognize a prelude to war. Once Haddock received a letter with a government seal on it, he knew it was time to visit the reporter in his flat.

   Tintin beat him to the punch. When Haddock stepped out to visit for the first time since their return, Tintin had already bounded up the first of Marlinspike’s front steps.

   “I came as soon as I could, Captain,” Tintin's words came in a breathless rush as he stopped to rest several steps below Haddock.

   The older man cocked his head quizzically.

   “I wasn’t expecting you.” Haddock replied in full honesty.

   “You weren’t? But you left an urgent message with…” Tintin cringed and rubbed his brow, “…Mrs. Finch.”

   Haddock laughed under his breath. That was one wily, old broad.

   “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Captain.” Tintin sighed heavily and checked his watch. “If I run, I’ll make the next train back.”

   Tintin retreated down the stairs and Haddock’s chest tightened.

   “Nonsense!” Haddock waved the thought away with his sternest voice. “As it so happens, I was on my way to see you.”

   Tintin was taken aback but he remained with one foot planted on the last stair of Marlinspike.

   “See me? Regarding what?” Tintin asked warily.

   Haddock fished the letter out of his pocket and made sure to let Tintin see the government seal.

   That was plenty for Tintin to piece things together. “Oh, Captain... It’s the petrol situation, isn’t it? They want you to go to war?”

   Haddock was troubled by the faraway look in Tintin’s eyes. “Well, it’s not as dire as all that just yet. Just kind of an early warning. In case we…”

   The redhead nodded, Haddock didn’t need to finish. After a contemplative moment, Tintin took an oversized breath and raised his chin. “Captain, I want to apologize for overreacting that night. I was terribly rude to you.”

   Haddock felt the tips of his ears burn. He hadn’t imagined that night hanging between them like a wall. Both ashamed and grateful that Tintin had brought it up first, Haddock shook his head slowly. “It was my fault, Tintin. I shouldn’t have been rummaging through your personal things.”

   “It _was_ a gift; I never would have bought it for myself,” Tintin explained in a rush. “I only have it because Mrs. Finch is very invested in my well-being. She can be a little obvious in her assumptions.”

   "I noticed that." The Captain tried not to remember Mrs. Finch's lewd pantomime. He adjusted his hat uneasily and looked Tintin straight in the eye. “So you’re…”

   Was the book second hand or well-read?

   “I don’t tend to broadcast that aspect of myself,” Tintin muttered, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

   That didn’t exactly answer the question that wrapped itself around the entirety of Haddock’s brain. When Tintin gave no indication of a better explanation, Haddock licked his lips and went for it.

   “So do you prefer men over women?”

   Tintin’s face flushed. Haddock though it was as good as a confession. But when Tintin opened his mouth, he surprised Haddock.

   “No.”

   In the near perfect silence that followed, Haddock could hear the clink of Nestor in the kitchen...all the way at the back of the mansion.

   “No?” the Captain parroted a little harsher than he meant to.

   Tintin's gaze never wavered from Haddock’s eyes. The boy shrugged and even scoffed a little. “No, I don’t prefer men. The book…Mrs. Finch is convinced…”

   Tintin shrugged again as if, for once, completely helpless.

   Haddock stared long and hard at the boy. Really, it was unfair to call him a boy. Tintin was a young man, somewhere in his late teens. Being a young man could be much more difficult than being a boy. And by now, Haddock could recognize the signs on Tintin’s face when the young man told a lie.

   “I read the book,” Haddock admitted.

   Tintin’s mouth hung in a blank stare. “You…”

   “Bought it. Read it cover to cover. There were even a few things in it I haven’t done.” Haddock felt his face redden to match Tintin’s.

   The redheaded reporter’s face was a train wreck of different emotions. Fear, surprise, denial,  all before it finally settled in the most visible question.

   Haddock nodded in answer. “Tintin, I fancied men even before I joined the navy.”

   Surprise and denial were back in full force. “Not you, Captain!”

   Haddock snorted at the protest. “Don’t say it like it’s some kind of affliction!”

   “It isn’t?”

   Haddock was struck dumb by the doubt plastered across Tintin’s face. The young man's expression was genuine, and it angled toward panic the longer Haddock was silent. The space between them became suddenly painful, so Haddock joined Tintin on the lowest step. “It isn’t something the whole world agrees on. But I don’t see how you...or I... or anyone else...could be anything less because of some preferences or some lifestyle.”

   Tintin’s brow was knit in an intensity usually reserved for solving crimes. “I just…never would have thought you…”

   “Is it because I’m old?” Haddock queried a bit indignantly.

   Tintin had never looked so heartbroken. “Captain, you’re perfect.”

   Haddock cleared his throat and crammed his own hands in his pockets just to keep him from reaching out to touch. He’d gotten his answer and then some! If that’s how Tintin felt, it was certainly worth exploring all the possibilities.

   "Well, I mean no one's perfect but..." Tintin cut himself off, perfectly embarrassed.

   Haddock resisted the urge to pat Tintin's shoulder to communicate...what?...that he understood, that he was flattered, that he just wanted to touch the younger man...

   After a moment, Tintin cleared his throat in an unconcious imitation of the Captain and dragged his eyes away from Haddock to check his watch. “I really ought to be going.”

   The Captain frowned. Couldn’t the boy just stay put for a moment?

   Tintin sighed and seemed disappointed by the face of his wristwatch. “Captain, the next train leaves in ten minutes. Would you mind driving me to the station?”

   Mrs. Finch was right about young men always running off! Why couldn't Tintin explore the potential right in front of him? Haddock warred with himself for a moment before he reached out to cover Tintin’s wristwatch with weathered fingers. “Why don’t you stay here?”

   “I'm sorry,” Tintin shook his head reluctantly, “I’ve run off and left Snowy. If I’m gone too long he’ll start tearing up the town looking for me.”

   “No, I don’t mean for the day," Haddock grumbled. "I mean forever. Come live at Marlinspike hall. There’s gobs of room and Calculus is always asking about you anyway."

   Tintin visibly swallowed. “Professor Calculus, is he also…”

   “Oh, no! Straight as an arrow. At least, so far as I can tell. He's got a girly calendar up in his workshop,” Haddock chuckled.

   “He does?” Tintin made a face as if someone had told him Raustapopolus was his father or that Snowy would be the first dog on the moon.

   Haddock couldn't help but smile like a fool.

   Tintin looked to the broad hand encircling his wrist. He placed his own hand over the Captain's. They'd certainly touched each other before, but this was a different kind of adventure. Tintin wet his lips. “I'd like to think about your offer, if that's all right.”

   Captain Haddock nodded, though he knew there was really only one answer he could be satisfied with.


	4. Chapter 4

   Haddock swished a finger around in his ear and pulled it out for a grim inspection.

   “What on earth are you doing?” Tintin asked with raised brows. Snowy, who was nestled between Tintin and Haddock in the back seat of the car, woofed his own puzzlement.

   “Checking my ears,” Haddock huffed. “I think there’s still sand in them.”

   Tintin laughed in spite of himself. He’d quite lost track of how long he and the Captain had stayed in the Middle East. First out of necessity; being gassed, clubbed, punched, shot at, and pelted with fireworks (not to mention the heatstroke that comes from a march through the dessert while wearing a sweater) required a reasonable amount of recovery time. Then they had to stay a little longer as the Emir’s guests. The man was eternally grateful that Tintin and Haddock had not only saved his oil exports but also his son Abdullah. And just when Tintin and Haddock were considering extracting themselves from their host’s hospitality (and Abdullah’s incessant, rotten tricks and whining), they received a letter and photograph from Calculus back at Marlinspike. Or what was left of Marlinspike.

   “He’s blown out the entire front parlor!” Haddock had moaned as he surveyed the result of Calculus’ explosive petrol experiments.

   Naturally they stayed a little longer to make sure Professor Calculus’ experiments were well beyond finished and repairs on the mansion started.

   The result was several weeks of luxurious captivity for Tintin and Haddock with nothing but each other to maintain sanity. One quiet evening, after Abdullah had been somehow coaxed/coerced into bed and the Emir’s palace became still, Captain Haddock had knocked on Tintin’s door with one goal in mind.

   "How about it, Tintin?"

   "How about...what?" Tintin had asked bewildered from behind the safety of his half-opened door.

   "Have you thought about Marlinspike?"

   "Marlinspike?" Tintin was a little sleepy for guessing games.

   "Did you think about my offer? You know, living with Professor Calculus and this old sailor."

   "Captain," Tintin rubbed his face wearily, "It's too late at night to be making such decisions. We'll talk tomorrow. Goodnight, Captain."

   But they didn't talk tomorrow or the next day. It was almost a whole week before Haddock successfully brought it up again.

   “You might even pick the color of your room,” Haddock had joked, “seeing as the whole place will have to be redone.”

   Tintin had only brushed off the thought, claiming it was too hot to think about such decision like moving in (or even paint color). Besides, Abdullah would be coming around at any moment with a new smoke bomb or a seemingly innocuous gift that was covered in sneezing powder or rigged to explode. And every day was ripe with heat and hijinks.

   So Haddock had made zero progress on Operation Cohabitation while in the land of black gold. But here they were sitting together in the back of a car that was very decidedly heading for Marlinspike Hall and Tintin had made no mention of being dropped off at his flat. Perhaps that was progress?

   “What’s that?” Haddock frowned and nodded to Tintin’s right hand which was lazily stroking Snowy’s fur.

   “This?” Tintin tilted his hand and pointed to a series of little, crescent marks. “Abdullah’s teeth.”

   Haddock hissed in sympathy and took Tintin’s hand to inspect it himself. He’d also fallen victim to that little monster’s fangs. Once, he’d caught Abdullah trying to smoke his pipe. Haddock had snatched it away but not without a little suffering.

   “He’s really left a scar!” Haddock tutted gently and soothed the marks with his thumb.

   Tintin gently but firmly extracted his hand and let it rest in his lap, outside the Captain’s reach.

   Haddock sat stunned before he quickly found some detail of the car's interior to stare at. Both men were surprised when the car came to a stop.

   “Here you are gentlemen,” the driver chirruped, “Marlinspike Hall.”

   Tintin glanced out the car window and hesitated before he turned to Haddock. “Well, you’re home, Captain.”

   Haddock frowned. Not 'we're home' but 'you're home.' “You’ll stay won’t you? Long enough to tell Calculus the whole tale?”

   Tintin refused to look at Haddock as he tickled Snowy to get the dog moving after the long ride. At length he spoke. “I suppose that would be alright.”

   “Good! Don’t forget your suitcase, I’ll call you another car later.” Haddock rushed the redheaded reporter out of the car before he could reconsider.

   Haddock paid the driver as Tintin collected their suitcases and Nestor appeared at Marlinspike’s door as if on cue.

   “Ah! It’s the master!” Nestor beamed. He cast Tintin a curious but pleased look. “ … And Mr. Tintin! How good to see you home again!”

   The last bit was directed at Haddock and Tintin was a relieved and yet a little disappointed. He felt a little uncomfortable once more at the steps of Marlinspike where, just a few weeks ago, Captain Haddock had professed some rather scandalous secrets.

   “Hello there, Nestor!” Haddock called in return. The Captain seemed oblivious to the heavy memory of their conversation and strode confidently up the stairs.

   Nestor tried to take Tintin’s suitcase but the boy waved him off politely and tightened his grip on the handle. Nestor wordlessly left Tintin to himself and collected the Captain’s suitcases instead. One of the suitcases clinked and Tintin had a strong suspicion of what might be in it. The Captain had been packed for deployment in the navy. Tintin had gleaned that much, though he never did get the full scoop on how Haddock came to be with him in the Middle East and not at sea. If Haddock had planned to take all that whiskey to war, it seemed nothing could stop his drinking. Tintin didn't know if that was something he could live with. The young man hung back as Haddock and Nestor discussed the recent painting of the house and Calculus’ whereabouts.

   Haddock had as many vices as Tintin had secrets. But at least Tintin knew what he could expect from the Captain. Was it really fair to hide things from Haddock? Perhaps Tintin’s secrets weren’t all that secret to begin with. Mrs. Finch certainly seemed to see right through him! And Haddock had shared his own secret, which most likely meant he _knew_ Tintin’s preference was not just in one landlady’s imagination.

   It had taken the better part of Tintin's life to come to grips with the fact that he was a little different in what he liked, strange in the things that he wanted, possibly sick in the head. And that book _Telenay_...it had certainly resonated with Tintin. Resonated so strongly that he read it quite frequently. Perhaps a little too frequently, the poor thing was the most worn item in Tintin's apartment. Yet Tintin had never actually said the words himself. He always brushed off the thought he knew was true. The thought that he really...

   Haddock must already know, even without Tintin's concrete confession. But Tintin couldn’t share the man’s home if he couldn’t even be honest with him.

   And then there was the way Haddock touched him. A steadying hand after a particularly close call or a touch to warn against danger were commonplace between Tintin and Haddock, but the gentle caress over minor scars in the back seat of a car were not. There were too many strange and mysterious thoughts for even Tintin's brain to process.

   Nestor and the Captain's talk turned to the missing professor just as Tintin caught up with them. The phone rang, the Captain answered. Haddock grumbled and snapped his way through a brief conversation and then sputtered as the line went dead. There was that niggling sensation in the back of Tintin's mind that always seemed to prelude a horrible discovery.

   "How odd!" Tintin wondered who would make such a call to Marlinspike. "I hope nothing has happened to Professor Calculus...Shall we have a look around his room?"

   Tintin leapt at the chance to make himself useful and separate himself from Haddock by doing just that. Snowy reached the top of the staircase first and was already growling at the nearest door.

   "Look at Snowy!"

   "Careful!" Haddock cautioned.

   Tintin's fist was ready for any thug that might leap out as he swung open the door. Much to the duo's surprise, a Siamese cat came streaking out of the room. Some villain that turned out to be! Snowy gave chase, villain and cat being synonymous to him. Even as Tintin called for his silly dog to give up pursuit, he was relieved nothing more dangerous had found it's way to Marlinspike.

   Snowy took a tumble down the steps and the doorbell rang.

   As Tintin and Haddock descended the stairs, Nestor returned from the door. The butler carried a slip of paper on a silver tray. "A telegram for you sir."

   Renegade animals were soon forgotten, Haddock frowned. "For me? Already? Who knows I'm home?"

   Haddock scooped up the message and let Tintin read over his shoulder.

   Professor Calculus was in Syldavia of all places? And he wanted Haddock and Tintin to join him. 

   "Should we go?" Tintin wondered. It seemed strange, a little too coincidental. It smelled like some sort of setup. But Calculus was a friend, and if there was a chance that the message truly was from the Professor, Tintin and Haddock had to go. Haddock made the decision with little thought at all.

   "Of course! No need to take the bags upstairs, Nestor. We're leaving at once."

   Tintin frowned. For one, his suitcase never should have been going upstairs. And two, Titnin wasn't eager to run to Syldavia for what might be some kind of hoax.

   Twenty minutes later, another car had been summoned and Nestor was storing the suitcases in the trunk when a messenger came on bike.

   “Telegram!”

   “Another one?” Haddock groused from the far side of the car. “Maybe Calculus has changed his mind.”

   "If the first telegram was even from Calculus," Tintin speculated.

   “Telegram for Mr. Tintin,” the messenger clarified and held it up hoping someone would just claim it so he could be on his way.

   “For me?” Tintin hesitantly accepted the blue slip of paper. “Why send me a message here?”

 

Mr Tintin Marlinspike Hall Marlinshire                                                        

you have been gone two months stop refunding your advanced rent stop    

sending your things to Marlinspike stop say hello to Captain stop

                                                                                              Mrs M Finch

 

   “Well what does it say?” the Captain asked as he rounded the car to take a look.

   Tintin's mouth gaped, he reread the telegraph.

   "Is it from Calculus? Don't keep me in suspense, Tintin!" Haddock made a grab for the slip of paper.

   Tintin crumbled the message in his hand and stuffed it into the back pocket of his plus fours. “It's not important. Let’s go find a plane to Syldavia.”


End file.
